


The Gravity Falls Diet

by KittyKatBella



Category: Gravity Falls, Santa Clarita Diet (TV)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Gore, Parody
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-07 14:39:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15221378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyKatBella/pseuds/KittyKatBella
Summary: A Gravity Falls parody of the Santa Clarita DietWhen strange things start happening to Ford, him and Fiddleford race to find an answer (and the cure) before it's too late.





	1. So Then A Bat Or A Monkey

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, anyone who's seen or heard of the Santa Clarita Diet knows that it's a very gorey show. So go into each chapter with that mindset

It was a perfectly normal day in Gravity Falls. The trash was being collected, sprinklers ran and sprayed water over lawns- nothing to make one think anything out of the ordinary had happened.

Though, well- Gravity Falls had never been quite 'ordinary.'

It was 6:58 in the morning, and Ford and Fiddleford were still in bed. Fiddleford slowly sat up, looking over at the alarm clock. He smiled slightly, leaning over to Ford and wrapping an arm around his waist. Fiddleford kissed his cheek.

"Fidds," Ford said sleepily.

"Ssh. No words, my love," Fiddleford said quietly. Ford smiled softly as the other kissed his neck.

"I'm sorry Fidds, I'm just not really a 'pound one out' kind of guy," Ford muttered.

"Ah know, an' that's great," Fiddleford sighed, rubbing Ford's arm. "Y'like romance, an'... rose pedals."

"Shut up," Ford rolled his eyes and playfully shoved Fiddleford.

"Ah ain't makin' fun of ya."

"Yes you are."

"No. Ah'm only sayin' that sometimes, maybe even now, we might try..." Fiddleford trailed off, smiling a bit.

"Humping?" Ford snorted. "Like that rescue dog did to that little girl at Rite Aid?"

Fiddleford opened his mouth to say something, paused... and looked over as the alarm went off. Ford reached over to shut it off.

* * *

Fiddleford set two pieces of bread in the toaster oven and closed it. He set the temperature and time and grimaced slightly.

"Jennifer Lawrence chopped off her hair again," Ford reported from the newspaper. "Everybody hates it like that, but she doesn't care. She's so bold. I wish I was bold. Am I bold? No, not really..."

"Ah'm really upset 'bout the new toaster oven," Fiddleford said.

"I think I'd like to be about... twenty percent bolder," Ford continued to ramble. "No, more. Eighty percent. No, that's too much."

"Look at all the slack in these knobs," Fiddleford said, twisting one to prove his point. "Y' just can' set an accurate temperature."

"Yes, darling, I know. Did you send them an e-mail?" Ford asked.

"No, Ah re-read it," Fiddleford said, grabbing the milk from the fridge. "It came across a little crazy."

"I need a car," Tate announced, entering the kitchen. "I can' live here anymore without a car. We're in the middle of the woods in the middle of freakin' nowhere."

"We ain't buyin' you a car," Fiddleford repeated.

"Y'don't need ta buy me a car," Tate said. "Buy Pa a new car an' I'll take his. Like a normal family."

"...I like the Range Rover," Ford spoke.

"Why don't ya love Pa enough ta buy him a Range Rover?" Tate asked Fiddleford. Ford winced and held his stomach in pain.

"Well-" Fiddleford began, only to be interrupted by Ford groaning. "What is it? Are ya alright?"

"Yes, I-I just have this sharp-" Ford winced again.

"Here, sit down," Fiddleford frowned and hurried over, leading Ford into a chair.

"Is Pa dyin'?" Tate looked between his two dads.

"Stop," Fiddleford glared.

"I dunno, parents die," Tate defended himself.

"I'm not dying, Tate," Ford sighed. "I probably just ate something." He paused and took a deep breath. "See? I'm fine. All better."

"Are ya sure? Y'scared me, hon," Fiddleford frowned.

"Yeah, me too," Tate agreed. "Makes ya think... life is short."

"Y'ain't gettin' a car."

* * *

"Maybe we could hang out after school."

"Why?" Tate asked. The three of them were heading out the front door.

"I-I don't know, because I love you and we don't hang out a lot?" Ford answered.

"I think this is working fine," Tate adjusted his hat. 

"Fiddleford!" Powers called, him and his family coming out of their house next door.

"Hey, Powers," Fiddleford waved.

"Noticed a light on in your den all night," Powers said.

"...Oh, ok. Someone's gonna get in trouble," Fiddleford joked. Powers squinted. "...Ah'm kiddin'. No one's in trouble."

"Unusual, that's all," Powers said.

"Powers," Stacey said.

"I had trouble sleeping, so I was up," Ford said, closing the car trunk.

"Y'had trouble sleepin'?" Fiddleford frowned slightly. Ford shrugged a bit.

"Is it-?"

"No, it's not... triangle-related."

"Problem?" Powers asked.

"Powers, leave people alone," Stacey glared. "Cop brain, sorry."

"I'm not a cop," Powers argued. "Sheriff's Department, all the way." Stacey nodded as though she didn't care either way. Which... she didn't. "Dickless over there is a cop. Morning, puss." They looked over to see Stan walking over to his car with Lee and the twins. He rolled his eyes. "Another day in pretend law enforcement?"

"Have a good day, Powers," Stan deadpanned, ignoring him. "Be safe or whatever."

"Gravity Falls Police Department," Powers rolled his eyes. "Shitbirds. Be careful today chasing bad guys, honey bunch! Oh that's right, they don't allow pursuits in Gravity Falls. Worried it might 'hurt somebody's feelings'."

"Just trying to not kill people, Powers," Stan responded, closing the car door behind Lee. "We protect and serve, not frame and maim like the sheriff's department."

"Suck me, Stan," Powers snapped. Stan snickered. "Ford, Fiddleford."

He walked back to his car and drove off. Stan left too, taking the kids to school.

"I love my brother, but sometimes I really hate living next to him," Ford sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'll see you at the Petersons'."

They kissed goodbye and Fiddleford drove off in his car.

"Do you have everything you need?" Ford asked Tate.

"Yes, Pa," Tate deadpanned. Ellie, Stacey's daughter, watched him from the passenger seat in her car.

"Just making sure," Ford put his hands up in mock defeat. They called goodbye to Fiddleford as he left.

"Tate," Stacey smiled. "You look so handsome today. Ellie worships you. You're like, her king."

" _Mooom!_ " Ellie yelled from the car. Stacey shrugged innocently.

"Ok," Tate sighed, moving to sit in the car.

"Hey," Stacey grinned at Ford. "Some of us parents are going out tonight. Drinking, dancing, ect. You wanna come?"

"No, I, ah- I can't, tonight," Ford said. "But thank you."

"You're so flustered," Stacey snorted. "We're not banging dudes. At least that's what we tell our husbands."

"Ha, yes," Ford cleared his throat. "Have a nice day, Stacey."

* * *

Fiddleford pulled up to the house and parked in the driveway. He glanced around before pulling out some weed and lighting it up in a smoking pipe. He breathed it out and walked up to the house.

* * *

Ford walked through the real estate office when he ran into his boss, Carl.

"Stanford Pines, say hello to Gary West," he introduced. "Gary was rocking it down in Piedmont; now he's all ours."

"Hello, Gary," Ford shook his hand. "Welcome aboard."

"Thank you, Stanford," Gary smiled. "I'm very excited to be here."

"Stanford works with his partner, Fiddleford," Carl explained, once again skirting around the word 'husband'. "You two gonna sell the Peterson house today?"

"We're going to try, Carl," Ford nodded.

"None of this 'try' bullshit," Carl said after a pause. " _Do_ it!"

"Oh, you're yelling at me," Ford mumbled.

"The Petersons are nervous," Carl snapped. "We cannot lose this goddamn listing!"

"Well, this is the third time these buyers have been to the house-" Ford began.

"Get an offer!" Carl interrupted. Ford nodded. "Get an offer. That's what realtors do."

"Ok," Ford nodded.

"Come on, I'll show you to your office," Carl said to Gary. "It's small."

He walked off, leaving Ford and Gary alone.

"It was nice meeting you," Gary said. "I'm so sorry you got yelled at."

"Yes. I mean, yes, nice meeting you," Ford corrected himself. "Not sorry I got yelled at. Well, both, sort of. The perks of being a gay man working... anywhere, honestly."

He rolled his eyes. Gary chuckled and followed after Carl.

* * *

"The master has been completely remodeled," Ford was saying. Him and Fiddleford were showing the potential buyers around the Peterson house. "Lots of light, and brand-new texture plush carpeting."

"All headed in the same direction," Fiddleford smiled. The others laughed.

"It's just lovely," the agent said.

"Do you know what my favorite thing about the upstairs is?" Ford asked. "The laundry chute."

"Oh, it's amazing," the agent agreed.

"It was so-" Ford was interrupted as he barfed all over the bedroom floor. Everyone stared in shock and the wife covered her mouth with her hands.

"Oh my god," she said quietly.

"Wow," Fiddleford gaped. "...wow." Ford seemed to be in shock as well. "Stanf'rd, are ya ok?"

"I-I'm sorry," Ford said to the couple. "We will get a cleaning crew in here right away."

He wiped at his mouth.

"M-maybe we should reschedule," Fiddleford said.

"Great idea," the agent agreed. "I could run you up to that Cape Cod on Barnhill."

"No, please," Ford said quickly. "I-I don't want to make everyone have to come back." His voice was a bit shaky. "I'm just going to use the bathroom real quick, and call the cleaning crew." He backed into the bathroom and closed the door. "I'll be right back, excuse me."

Fiddleford looked over at the couple and smiled nervously.

"Alright, other bedrooms," he spoke.

"Yes, this way," the agent nodded and led them out of the room. Fiddleford carefully stepped around the vomit and followed them. He looked back in concern when the sound of vomiting came from the bathroom again.

* * *

"New skylights really open it up, don'cha think?" Fiddleford asked awkwardly, pointing up at the living room skylights. They could faintly hear vomiting from upstairs.

"I love the... crown moldin' in here," Fiddleford said weakly in yet another room. More puking. "...just beautiful."

"...I want to leave," the wife said. Her husband nodded in agreement.

* * *

"Stanf'rd, honey," Fiddleford called, entering the bedroom. "Stanford-" He opened the bathroom door to see vomit on the shower door. "Oh my-"

Not only that, there was vomit everywhere. On the wall, on the floor, covering the sides of the toilet and counters, even filling a bit of the tub.

"Oh my goodness, Stanford," Fiddleford looked pale. He looked around and saw Ford laying on the floor, covering in vomit and slumped against the counter. "Ford! Ford? Stanford!"

Fiddleford hurried over to him, but Ford wasn't responding. Fiddleford shakily held two fingers to his husband's neck, feeling around.

No pulse.

"Oh no," Fiddleford murmured. "Oh, gosh! Oh gosh oh gosh oh gosh!" He started sobbing, pulling Ford close and holding him. "Oh, Ford. No no no no no no no..."

Ford's eyes opened.

"Did we get the offer?" He asked. Fiddleford gasped and held him out to see his face.

"What the heck?!"

"I-I'm ok," Ford said, slowly sitting up. "I-I-I just threw up." He looked around the bathroom. "A fair amount..."

"Yeah..." Fiddleford agreed shakily.

"A-And that came out of me," Ford pointed at a small, red ball. Fiddleford picked it up and looked it over in confusion. "D-Do you think it's an organ?"

"Yer the one with 12 PhDs..."

"I'm not _that_ kind of doctor!"

* * *

The two of them sat nervously in the hospital wait room.

"I really am feeling better, Fiddleford," Ford said.

"Ah wanna get'cha looked at," Fiddleford insisted, his knee bouncing quickly.

"We've been here for over three hours," Ford sighed. "I just want to go home, change out of these clothes, and take a bath. I feel like a bus station shit in my mouth."

Fiddleford paused, looking at him.

"Ah'll go see what's happenin'," he said, standing up and walking over to the front desk. "Excuse me."

"Do not ask me again how long it's gonna be," the lady said. "This isn't a deli counter. The most life-threatening conditions have priority. Your husband threw up."

"A lot," Fiddleford protested.

"Your husband threw up," the lady repeated.

"A _lot._ "

"Ok, we're not doing this," the lady said.

* * *

They pulled up to the house and Fiddleford got out to help Ford out. He took hold of his arms and walked him to the door.

"We'll call yer doctor and make ya some soup," Fiddleford said. "Y'lost a lot'a fluids."

Ford sniffed at Fiddleford's shirt against his arm and sighed a bit. Fiddleford frowned and paused as Ford turned to face him.

"I'm ok with you smoking marijuana," Ford said.

"...pardon?" Fiddleford's jaw dropped.

"I know I complain about it so you try to hide it, but... I just want you to be the Fiddleford that you want to be," Ford said.

"That's..." Fiddleford didn't know what to say. "That's really nice, darlin'."

Ford bit his lip and wiggled his eyebrows, when just then a car pulled up and Gary stepped out.

"Stanford?" He called.

"Gary," Ford smiled. "This is Gary, the new realtor I was telling you about. Gary, my husband, Fiddleford."

"Howdy, Gary," Fiddleford shook his hand.

"Hi there," Gary nodded. He turned to Ford. "So, how are you feeling? I heard about your afternoon."

"Much better, thank you," Ford said.

"Oh, these are for you," Gary handed over the bouquet of flowers he was carrying. "And I made sure the cleaning crew got in there ok. They took care of everything, so don't worry about that."

"Thank you, Gary," Ford smiled. Fiddleford nodded.

"Well, we'd invite'cha in, but-" He nodded at Ford's vomit-covered shirt.

"Oh, don't even think about it," Gary waved it off. "But listen- Fiddleford, could I talk to you for a moment?"

"I'll go get cleaned up," Ford assured Fiddleford. "Thank you for the flowers, Gary. And all of your help."

"No problem," Gary smiled. Ford walked into the house. "Feel better!" Ford waved and closed the door behind him. "That was a crazy amount of vomit."

"Well, I ain't a medical expert, so Ah can' say what the proper amount'a vomit is," Fiddleford said. 

"It was a huge amount," Gary said.

"Are you a medical doctor, Gary?" Fiddleford asked.

"No."

"Neither am I. So, let's not dishonor that profession, which takes eight years'a intense trainin', by thinkin' we can give medical opinions, ok?" Fiddleford smiled tightly.

"Fine. Then let's just stick to facts," Gary said. "The homeowners came by, they didn't like what they saw. So they don't want to work with you anymore. They'll be working with me now."

"Yer stealin' our listin'?" Fiddleford asked.

"No, the facts are they fired you, then hired me," Gary said. He began to walk back to his car. "And that was an _insane_ amount of vomit!"

* * *

Fiddleford carried a tray of soup into the bedroom.

"Everythin's good, Gary just needed some advice," he lied. "I helped him out."

Ford was laying in bed, frowning and resting a hand on his chest.

"I can't feel my heartbeat," he said.

"What?" Fiddleford frowned.

"My heart. I can't feel it," Ford said. Fiddleford set the tray down at the foot of the bed and set his ear against Ford's chest. Ford ran his fingers through Fiddleford's hair as he tried to listen for his heartbeat. Ford sighed happily. "I love your hair."

Fiddleford's frowned deepened. There was nothing there. Ford slowly began to push Fiddleford's head down towards his crotch. He grinned a bit.

"...yeah, like that. Bingo," he sighed happily and folded his arms behind his head, grinning.

* * *

Fiddleford stared at the row of stethoscopes in the store. One of the workers walked over.

"Can I help you?" He grunted.

"What?" Fiddleford looked a bit startled.

"My manager noticed that you've been staring at the stethoscopes for like, a really long time," the worker said.

"...there's somethin' happenin' with my husband," Fiddleford said. He just... he needed to talk.

"Oh. Well, I'm only 20, so..."

"Right, sorry," Fiddleford nodded and turned back to the stethoscopes. "Do you know the difference between the duel-headed stethoscopes an' the single-headed ones?"

"Well, 'duel' would be two," the worker said.

"Ah see," Fiddleford said. "So twice as many then... It ain't just a physical thing, he's actin' different." The worker stared at him like he wasn't being paid enough for this. Fiddleford grabbed one of the boxes. "Ah'm gonna get this one."

* * *

Fiddleford listened intently for Ford's heartbeat, but even with the stethoscope, he couldn't hear a thing.

"It just don't make sense," he murmured. Ford slowly tugged down on the stethoscope. "My jaw still kinda hurts...?"

"Then stop talking," Ford said and pushed his head down.

* * *

Tate held the stethoscope against Ford's chest. He took the earpieces out and stepped towards Fiddleford.

"I don' hear anythin'," he said, obviously freaked out.

"I know, right?" Fiddleford agreed.

"And there's something else," Ford said, grabbing a pair of scissors nearby. "But no one freak out, because I feel fine." Fiddleford and Tate watched in horror and Ford cut a gash across his hand. "Look! No blood!"

Fiddleford looked horrified and made a cross over his heart.

"Still, no one freak out!" Ford repeated. He squeezed at the gash and a thick black liquid oozed out. Fiddleford and Tate passed out, falling to the floor. "Oh, shit."

* * *

Fiddleford and Tate stood at the kitchen counter, each drinking a cup of orange juice.

"Is the juice helping?" Ford asked.

"Uh-huh," Fiddleford said weakly. Tate nodded. Fiddleford stared as Ford ate raw hamburger meat out of the package. "Ah can cook that meat fer ya, darlin'."

"I'm fine," Ford turned the offer down.

"...we should go back t'the emergency room," Fiddleford said.

"No," Ford said sharply. "I'm sorry. Look, I know things are very wrong, but I feel _good._  I have all this energy, and like- like a focus. I can't go to a hospital where they're going to put me in a tube and prick me and poke me."

"So y'wanna stay here, where yer gonna put yerself in a tube and prick an' poke yerself," Fiddleford nodded, squeezing his arms.

"They might never let me come home again," Ford looked upset. "Bad for you, because we're having spectacular sex."

"Ew," Tate grimaced. "...Ew!"

"Whatever this is, we need ta talk t'someone, 'cause we ain't experts!" Fiddleford argued. "An' Ah know we studied paranormal, but this is nothin' like we've ever seen a'fore!"

"I know someone," Tate spoke.

"Who?" Fiddleford asked.

"A creeper," Tate said.

"What's a creeper?" Ford asked.

"The kind'a nerd who specializes in disturbin', weird, or gruesome shit," Tate explained. "Sort'a like you guys, only the _fake_ disturbin', weird, or gruesome shit."

* * *

Ellie shone a flashlight at Ford's eyes.

"No pupilary response," she noted. "Have you noticed any deteriorating flesh?"

"No?"

"Blackening of the skin, digits or other pieces falling off?" Ellie questioned.

"No. Although I wouldn't exactly mind if-"

"Ah'm gonna stop ya right there, yer hands are lovely, shut up right now," Fiddleford interrupted.

"Um... have you eaten anyone?" Ellie asked.

"No," Ford looked confused. "But I may have thrown up an organ."

"No worries," Ellie smiled. Tate tried to look at her notebook. The girl fidgeted a bit. "H-hello."

"We already said hello," Tate said. Ellie nodded and pointed at the door.

"From when you came in," she said. "...I haven't had this many people in my room before."

"Yer doin' fine," Tate assured.

"Thank you," Ellie said. "Do you guys want chairs?"

"We just wanna know what's goin' on," Fiddleford pleaded.

"Right," Ellie nodded. "Well... he is dead... and also undead."

"What the frick?!" Fiddleford exclaimed. Ford looked at him. "Ah'm so sorry. What are ya sayin'? He's a... zombie?"

"Ah, I don't like that word," Ellie said. "I think it's inherently negative."

"Ah don' like it either."

"Then let's not use it," Ellie said.

"I don't feel dead and undead," Ford protested. "I feel... totally alive."

"He's been very..." Fiddleford hesitated, "exuberant."

"Exuberant?" Ellie looked confused.

"Yeah, they're doin' it a lot," Tate said quietly.

"...ok," Ellie nodded awkwardly. "Well, one thing we know about the undead is they're completely driven by their id." She glanced at Tate. "The id is the part of the brain that demands us to satisfy our desires."

"I know what the id is," Tate said.

"It just... wants whatever it wants," Ellie said.

"I sit behind ya in Psych," Tate told her.

"...I know."

"How could this happen?" Fiddleford asked. "We're _realtors._ We haven' messed with freaky... paranormal stuff in years!"

"Fiddleford-"

"Sorry, yes, not freaky."

"Well, most new viruses come from animals, like monkeys or bats," Ellie explained. "As humans destroy their habitats, we're exposed to all sorts of unfamiliar diseases. I mean, we're the real so-called zombies, aren't we? Consuming everything we want without any regard for consequences? As we destroy the Earth, so, too, do we destroy ourselves."

The others stared at him.

"So then a bat, or a monkey?" Fiddleford questioned.

"Maybe?" Ellie guessed.

"Anythin' else we should know? Not that we know anythin'," Fiddleford said.

"Always keep him fed," Ellie said. "I'm pretty sure we don't want to find out what happens when he's hungry. And if he starts showing more symptoms, like uh, deterioration or aggression, you might have to-"

Her speech faltered as she looked at Ford.

"...what?" Fiddleford asked.

"...um," Ellie hesitated. She leaned towards Fiddleford. "Bash his brains in?"

Everyone looked around uncomfortably.

"...we're realtors," Fiddleford said softly.

* * *

"Ok, until we know more, we cannot tell anyone 'bout this," Fiddleford was saying as they left the house. "Especially yer brother. Or Bella."

"What a beautiful afternoon," Ford noticed. He gasped. "We should do something. Let's buy a Range Rover."

"Fuck yeah," Tate grinned.

"No!" Fiddleford said. "We're goin' home an' comin' up with a plan! We need answers. How'd this happen? How do we fix it? Has it affected anyone else?"

Ford kneeled down in front of a plant in the yard.

"Ooh," he smiled and plucked a snail off the leaf. "Look what I found."

"Don' eat a snail," Fiddleford said tiredly. Tate looked away as Ford ate the snail. The shell crunched loudly and Ford hummed in satisfaction.

"Crunchy."

"Ok..." Fiddleford said weakly. Powers' car pulled up in the driveway. "Oh, shoot." Powers stepped out of the car. "Howdy, Powers. How was work?"

"Stacey home?" Powers asked.

"No, no. Should be soon though, Ah'm guessin'," Fiddleford smiled nervously. "Yeah, Ah don' know her schedule."

"What are you all doing here?" Powers asked. Fiddleford hesitated.

"What are _you_ all doing here?" Ford glared. Powers raised an eyebrow and Fiddleford laughed nervously.

"That's... funny. We were just talkin' ta Ellie," Fiddleford said. 

"Ellie? Why?"

"Because... we found a football in our backyard an' we thought it might be hers," Fiddleford lied.

"Ellie doesn't own a football, or anything else that would make her go outside," Powers said.

"That's exactly what she said, only with less implied criticism," Fiddleford nodded. "So... mystery not solved."

They started walking back over to their house.

"So then uh, where's the football?" Powers asked. The three of them froze.

"...run," Ford said. Tate nodded in agreement and the two of them ran towards the house. "Don't shoot, don't shoot!"

"Shoot him, shoot him!" Tate yelled, pointing at Ford. They both laughed, and Fiddleford and Powers watched as they hurried inside. Fiddleford shrugged and smiled nervously.

"We threw it back over the fence," he lied. "So, as you would say, 'case closed'."

He walked over to the house.

* * *

"'Shoot him, shoot him'?" Ford asked, laughing. "Really? You would be a terrible partner in a crime spree."

"Uh, it's called self-preservation," Tate argued, sitting with his dad on the couch. "An' it's an instinct you should be glad that I have."

Fiddleford entered the room, pointing out towards the front door.

" _That_ is exactly what we _don't_ want," he said harshly. "Now Powers is suspicious! What if he asks Ellie 'bout it?"

"Ellie won' say anythin'," Tate assured.

"An' how do you know that?" Fiddleford folded his arms.

"Because Ellie _hates_ her stepdad," Tate said.

"That's sad," Ford frowned. "I feel bad that Ellie has a shitty stepdad. No one should have a shitty parent. Maybe we should adopt Ellie."

"Out'a the question!" Fiddleford cried. He sat on the couch besides Ford. "Look, y'need ta fight this a lil' more. Be a little less... impulsive."

"I'm hungry," Ford complained. "And there's no hamburger left."

He moaned a bit and Fiddleford stared at him.

"Ah'll go get'cha some food," he said, standing up. "But then we're comin' up with a plan." He added to Tate, "Keep him here."

"Alright," Tate said.

"Ah'm serious," Fiddleford said. "Don' go anywhere."

"Alright," Tate repeated, raising an eyebrow. Fiddleford left and Ford and Tate looked at each other.

* * *

Ford and Tate yelled with joy as Ford sped down the road in the Range Rover.

"You should slow down," the salesman in the passenger seat begged. "Please slow down!"

Tate screamed out the back window, leaning out into the wind.

"Faster, faster faster!" Tate cheered.

* * *

Fiddleford sighed, setting the grocery bag on the counter and pulling out an assortment of packaged meats. He set them in the fridge.

"Ah got organic," he spoke. "Ah dunno if that's still important." He turned to see Tate, who's hair was whipped and messy. "Oh. What happened t'yer hair?" Tate glanced away. "...where's yer pa?"

* * *

Ford was sitting with Bella, Stacey, and a few of their other friends in a bar. They all cheered, clinking their glasses together.

"I'm glad you finally decided to join us!" Stacey grinned.

"This is fantastic," Ford laughed. "From now on, always include me in everything."

"I can't believe you just went out and bought yourself a Range Rover," Dan said.

"Well, I've been wanting one ever since this morning," Ford shrugged.

"I think it's great," Stacey said. "You're my new role model."

"Yeah, if we want something we should have it, damn it," Bella agreed. "End of story."

"I'm gonna get some of those Christian Louboutins," Stacey said. "They're fucking expensive, but fuck it."

The others laughed. Dan waved at Ford, getting his attention.

"There's a cute guy at the bar looking at you," he told him. Ford turned to see Gary. He smiled and waved a bit.

"Oh hello, he is cute," Stacey agreed. "Do you know him?"

"Oh, his name is Gary," Ford waved it off. "He just moved here."

"Are you two gonna bone?" Stacey asked.

"Stace!" Dan shoved her a bit.

"What? We decided we shouldn't deny ourselves things, and boning is a thing," Stacey said.

"Ford, if you hurt my best friend, I _will_ kill you," Bella warned.

"I'm not going to have sex with him!" Ford rolled his eyes.

* * *

Later in the night, the four of them were on the dance floor, much more drunk than before. Gary watched Ford from the bar, smiling. Fiddleford entered the bar, looking around and spotting Ford dancing. He sighed, walking over.

"Stanford?" He spoke, pulling Ford away a bit. "Let's go home."

"No, Fidds, I don't want to go," Ford protested.

"Yeah-"

"Come on, let's dance!" Ford grinned.

"Darlin', ya bought a car, an' now yer grindin' on my best friend," Fiddleford sighed. "And yer _gay_. An' this ain't who you are."

"...maybe it is," Ford said. "Maybe it's who I've always wanted to be. Maybe it's not who _you_ are."

"Sweetheart-" Fiddleford began.

"Is there a problem?" Gary asked, walking over.

"Oh gosh, not you," Fiddleford sighed.

"Look, Fiddleford, obviously you're upset, but if Stanford doesn't want to go with you-" Gary began.

"Shut up, Gary," Fiddleford interrupted. "Stanf'rd-"

"Life should be fun, Fidds!" Ford said. "And I don't care what _Consumer Report_ says, that car is _hot_."

"He wants to have fun, Fidds," Gary said.

"An' doesn' care what _Consumer Report_ says," Fiddleford added. "Ah heard him, Gary. Stanford?"

"Then maybe you should go home," Gary said. Fiddleford looked at him as though thinking of what to say. Ford frowned, glancing between the two of them.

"Y'know, fifteen years ago, Ah would'a punched you, once," Fiddleford said. "Ah might'a dropped ya. If not, y'would have beaten the heck out'a me, 'cause Ah just had the one move, an' yer a... substantial man." Ford nodded in agreement. "But now Ah have a family, a career, a life; I ain't gonna be the guy who gets inta bar fights."

"You mean loses bar fights," Gary corrected.

"Yer missin' my point," Fiddleford said.

"You don't wanna get into a fight because you're afraid you might lose," Gary said.

"That is exactly wrong," Fiddleford denied. "The losin' is a given."

"Damn straight."

"An' it's irrelevant-"

"You mean inevitable."

"Gosh darn it, yer frustratin'," Fiddleford groaned. "At this point in my life, I ain't gonna be the kind'a person-"

"Who wins a bar fight," Gary finished.

"Gosh darn, what's the matter with'cha?!" Fiddleford exclaimed.

"You are!" Gary said.

"Ah'm tryin' ta explain a very simple concept," Fiddleford tried again.

"You are!" Gary repeated.

"...Ah'm just gonna call this a draw an' go home," Fiddleford nodded. He turned to Ford. "Have fun."

"Fiddleford!" Ford groaned as the other walked off. "Come back!"

"Hey, I'm sorry for butting in," Gary moved in front of Ford. "I just don't like seeing people treated badly."

He smiled. Ford rolled his eyes.

"It's not going to work," he said. He began to walk off.

"No?" Gary questioned, grabbing his wrist and pulling him back. "Really? How about this?"

He pulled Ford into a dancing position and bumped into him.

"...oh my."

* * *

When Fiddleford woke up the next morning, Ford wasn't in bed.

Fiddleford went downstairs to make himself breakfast. He set two pieces of bread in the toaster oven and went to turn it on, only for the knob to break off in his hand. He stared at it. He then picked up the toaster oven and carried it to the backyard, slamming it down on the concrete patio.

"Huh?" He spoke. "Y'happy now? Can' get a break, can Ah?" He stared at the broken toaster oven. "'You are'."

* * *

Fiddleford sat in the parking lot outside the store, lighting up his pipe and sighing.

Inside, he was staring at the selection of toaster ovens. The employee from before walked over.

"My manager noticed that you've been staring at the toaster ovens for like a really long- oh, it's you," the worker said.

"Hey, do ya know which one'a these has a knob without any slack?" Fiddleford asked.

"No. Does it matter?" The worker asked.

"Ah thought so," Fiddleford sighed. "Ah really did. But maybe it don't. Maybe Ah shouldn' care 'bout toaster knobs, or being responsible, or descendin' inta chaos. Why should Ah be the only one in my family who gives a darn, right? Who sucks it up!"

"...this one's cheaper," the worker pointed at one of the toaster ovens.

"Maybe Ah wanna have fun, drive a fancy car, dance like a sex lunatic, hm?" He started dancing to illustrate his point.

"You're a good dancer," the worker said.

"Yer missin' the point, Norman!" Fiddleford exclaimed. "Ah don' want ta dance. An' Ah don' want another crappy toaster oven. Ah'm out'a here."

* * *

Ford was working in the backyard garden when Gary appeared, closing the fence gate behind him.

"Hi," Gary waved.

"Gary," Ford noticed.

"I rang the bell and then I saw your car in the driveway, so," Gary walked back to the backyard where Ford was.

"I'm just gardening," Ford said. "It... relaxes me. What's up?"

"I just wanted to make sure you were alright," Gary said.

"...because I didn't want to have sex with you last night?" Ford questioned. He snorted. "I'm fine."

"We were in the middle of dancing and then you just... strolled off," Gary said. He took Ford's hand, but Ford pulled it back.

"I had a lot on my mind," Ford said. "I ended up walking around all night. Checked out a dumpster behind Chili's. They throw away a _lot_ of raw meat-" Gary swiftly pulled Ford against him. "Woah, ok-"

"How about we start over?" Gary asked.

"I don't think so," Ford said.

"Are you sure?" Gary asked, knocking into Ford.

"I am."

"Are you?"

"I feel like whatever I say is just going to mean you push harder against my dick," Ford said. Gary repeated the action. "Ok, I was correct. Listen, Gary-"

"Ssh," Gary pressed his hand over Ford's mouth. "How about this? We have some fun. You said you're all about fun. And I don't say anything to your lame husband. Or, we don't, and I tell him we screwed four times last night in my beamer."

Ford slowly reached to move Gary's hand from his mouth.

"Your unwillingness to take no for an answer has made me feel... sexy and desirable," Ford said.

"Hm?" Gary looked a bit confused. Ford started slowly licking Gary's finger and he chuckled. "Uh-huh?"

Ford continued and Gary smiled, until there was a loud _crunch!_ as Ford bit off two of Gary's fingers. Gary screamed as blood squirted from the digits, and Ford ate the severed pieces of his fingers.

"I know, weirdest foreplay ever," Ford said, blood leaking from his mouth.

"You ate my fingers," Gary grunted.

"I do not hate your fingers!" Ford protested.

"'Ate'! Ate my fingers," Gary sounded like he was trying not to vomit. Ford quickly bit down on his fingers again, sucking at the blood. Gary slowly collapsed onto the ground. Ford tore open Gary's shirt in a frenzy and bit at his stomach, tearing it open. Blood stained the grass as he continued to eat.

* * *

"Stanford?" Fiddleford called, entering the house from the front door. "Ford, we need ta talk." He walked through the house. "Last night was complete bull. Ford!" He went out the back door. "Stanf-"

He turned to see Ford eating Gary and gasped. Ford looked up, looking as though he was suddenly snapped from a hypnotic state.

"Oh, Fidds," he spoke. He was covered in blood, and Gary's inner organs were spilling out of his stomach. Fiddleford gaped. "...I really want to make this work."


	2. We Can't Kill People!

It was dark out as Ford and Fiddleford dug a hole in the forest, far from their house or town. Ford looked around, keeping an eye out for people approaching.

"Guess what Daryl told me last night?" Ford spoke. "He and Ed are selling their home. It's a beautiful property. Great location, new kitchen, marble countertops. Detached bonus room. I think they'll give us the listing." Fiddleford didn't speak as he stabbed at the dirt with the shovel. "Fiddleford? Darling?"

"The listing," Fiddleford panted. "That'd be great, hon. We can' be realtors if we don' have listin's. So basic. It's so frickin' basic."

After a bit, the two of them moved to grab the container Gary was held in. The top was covered with plastic wrap. They grunted as they slowly moved it towards the hole. They paused, panting heavily.

"Would'a been nice ta have the lid," Fiddleford said.

"I couldn't find it," Ford grunted.

"Right," Fiddleford nodded. "Ya'd think it would'a been with the container is all."

"I can look for it when we get home, Fiddleford," Ford said shortly.

"'When we get home'?" Fiddleford repeated in shock. "What good will the lid be when our container is stuffed with half a frickin' body an' is buried in the frickin' desert?! Darlin'?!"

"...you're fake-swearing a lot tonight," Ford noted.

"Yeah, Ah've noticed that too," Fiddleford nodded. 

"Well obviously, Fiddleford, I didn't know we would be burying the container," Ford defended himself.

"What did ya think, honey?" Fiddleford asked. "We'd take it home with us an' clean it out an' use it ta store our taxes, which we can' do 'cause it don't have a frickin' lid. Oh God, Ah am so sorry, we're buryin' a dead guy, how did m'life end up like this?"

"Fine, I won't look for it," Ford rolled his eyes. Fiddleford looked behind Ford and his eyes widened.

"Oh shoot, someone's comin'," Fiddleford said. Ford turned around to see headlights coming their way.

"Oh, shit!" He exclaimed. "Who could be out here?"

"Ah don' know!" Fiddleford said. "Hurry, let's get this in the ground."

They struggled to drag the container over to the hole, but it ended up tipping over. Fiddleford groaned as blood and guts spilled into the grass. They both gasped and looked at each other.

"Do _not_ bring up the lid," Ford said. Fiddleford looked desperately between the ground and the car.

"C'mon, scoop this up, get it in the hole," he hissed. The two of them tried to do so, but there wasn't much they could do.

"We can't get caught," Ford said.

"Ah know."

"Who will take care of Tate? We can't leave Tate!

"Ah know, Ah know!"

Fiddleford stood up and tried to use the shovel to push everything into the hole. The car pulled up besides theirs.

"Get up!" Fiddleford told Ford. "Act natural."

They both smiled and waved, covered in blood.

"Really? This is what we're doing?" Ford asked through his smile.

"...ok, we say we came across this murder site an' we're just cleanin' it up," Fiddleford said.

"Who cleans up murder sites?" Ford asked.

"Ah dunno, pretend yer Christian."

"Christians don't clean up murder sites, unless you have a secret double life you're not telling me about."

"Some'a us try ta be helpful."

"...yeah, I'm just not seeing it," Ford sighed. The car door opened and Fiddleford yelled, running towards the person with the shovel. "Fiddleford, no!"

"Dad, stop!" Tate yelled, stepping out of the passenger seat. Fiddleford stopped and turned to see him.

"...oh."

He looked between Tate and Ellie, lowering the shovel.

"Tate, what are you doing here?" Ford asked.

"Well, I saw the broken toaster oven in the backyard, an' there was blood on the lawn an' no one was home an' I didn' know what was happenin'!" Tate explained.

"So he came to me for help," Ellie added. "I'm pretty calm in a crisis."

"Ellie borrowed her stepdad's car," Tate said, looking at his parents. More specifically, the blood.

"Please don't tell Powers," Ellie begged. "He loves his car. Keeps it covered with a blanket in the garage, which is how I'll end up if he finds out I took it."

"How- how did you find us?" Ford asked.

"Dad put that tracker app on our phones," Tate answered.

"Oh yeah, that thin's great," Fiddleford nodded. "So Ah guess we'll see ya at home, then."

Tate glanced at him and then at the container and blood.

"Oh my gosh, did you kill someone?" He gaped.

"No! Gosh!" Fiddleford lied. "We were out fer a drive an'..." Tate looked at him. "...yes. Yeah, we did. Ah'm sorry, lyin' just ain't in me."

"I did," Ford spoke. "I'm the one who killed him. He was not a good man, Tate. He wouldn't listen to my words." He burped a bit. "Stay down, Gary."

"But you only ate some of him?" Ellie asked, kneeling next to the hole.

"He weighed like, 180 pounds," Ford reasoned.

"Ah, the undead equivalent of over-ordering," Ellie joked. Tate stared at her and she shrugged awkwardly.

"Tate, I didn't want to get you or your father involved in this," Ford said. "Your dad is a monster... I _ate_ someone. And if you want me to go away, I will."

Fiddleford frowned, walking over and setting a hand on his husband's shoulder.

"No one's goin' anywhere," he said softly. Tate nodded in agreement. Meanwhile, Ellie was refilling the hole with the second shovel.

"Sorry," she said. "The less time spent at a crime scene, the better."

"What do you know 'bout it?" Fiddleford asked.

"My stepdad's a cop, and I enjoy the internet," Ellie explained. "And the first thing about crime is that you don't want to get caught. Did this guy have a family?"

"No," Ford shook his head. "He moved here about a week ago."

"Perfect," Ellie said. "Uh, you didn't eat his keys, did you?"

The three of them looked between each other.

* * *

Ford and Fiddleford snuck into Gary's house, both of them wearing rubber gloves. They went up to his room and began stuffing some of his clothes into a suitcase. They carried it downstairs and, for good measure, Fiddleford tipped over one of the chairs in the living room. They left the house and drove home.

"We toss Gary's bag, drive his car t' the airport an' leave it there," Fiddleford was planning. "Guy like Gary, hopefully people'll think he just skipped town."

"That's ingenious, Fidds," Ford smiled. "We should be ingenious more often; it's fun."

"Ah disagree," Fiddleford said. "In fact, until we solve whatever this is, Ah'd like ya ta meet me halfway. At least control _some_ 'a yer impulses."

"I swear, I did not have sex with Gary!" Ford repeated.

"Ah believe ya," Fiddleford sighed.

"...but I did eat his balls," Ford said. Fiddleford looked at him. "Well, one of them. Does that count as meeting you halfway?"

"...what Ah meant was, it'd be good fer everyone if ya only ate chicken 'r beef from now on," Fiddleford said.

"Oh. Yeah. Yes, I agree," Ford nodded.

"An' we need ta return the Range Rover," Fiddleford added. Ford pouted. "...Stanford."

"Fine," Ford grumbled. "...I should have eaten both of his balls."

"It'd be great if we didn' talk 'bout Gary's balls no more!" Fiddleford sighed.

"Sure. They were tiny anyway," Ford said. Fiddleford stared at him in shock. "What? I thought you'd like that."

Fiddleford opened his mouth to say something, but closed it and just looked back at the road.

* * *

Ellie slowly closed the garage door before handing a bottle over to Tate.

"This will mask any traces of blood," Ellie said. "But tell your dad to dilute it three-to-one or he'll kill his lawn."

Tate nodded.

"...intense night, huh?" He asked.

"Yeah," Ellie chuckled in agreement. Tate smiled and tapped Ellie's nose.

"Thank you, Ellie," he said before leaving to his house. Ellie stood for a moment before copying the action.

"'Thank you, Ellie'," she repeated, smiling.

* * *

In the middle of the night, Powers woke up to a strange sound. From next door, it sounded like a pump, following by hissing. He got out of bed and went over to the window, peaking out to see Fiddleford spraying the lawn with... something. Ford came out to join him and hugged him. Powers frowned in confusion.

* * *

"Carl called," Ford announced, walking into the bedroom the next morning. "He's mad because he can't find Gary. Because he's, you know, buried half-eaten in the forest. Without a lid, which I _did_ find, by the way."

"Ah found somethin' too," Fiddleford said. He was sitting in bed with his laptop in his lap. "Not as excitin' as a lid without a box, but... maybe more useful. There's a virologist at City College who specializes in rare viruses. Ah'm gonna go see him, get a second opinion from someone who ain't sixteen."

"Ok, that's great, Fidds," Ford nodded. "But why didn't you tell me that Gary stole the Peterson listing from us?"

"Well there was a lot goin' on, what with you killin' him," Fiddleford defended.

"Well, that couple is going back to the house today, and Carl said that if Gary doesn't show up, which he won't- or at least not enough of him to show a house- he wants _us_ to do it," Ford revealed.

"...This is good," Fiddleford said. "We should get our lives back ta normal anyway, so's no one gets suspicious. Why not show a house?"

"I agree," Ford smiled. "I'm going to get dressed and go."

"Woah woah woah-"

"What?" Ford asked. "You're going to go see the virus guy."

"An' Ah'll pick ya up after an' we'll go ta the house t'gether," Fiddleford said.

"Don't you trust me?" Ford asked.

"Well, ya did disembowel a man an' buy a Range Rover yesterday," Fiddleford reminded him.

"Speaking of the Range Rover-"

"Which we have ta return."

"It _can't_ be returned," Ford smiled nervously. "Hehe. State law. New automobile sales are final. Damn you, Oregon, for making us own such a super nice car!" He grinned and Fiddleford sighed. "Don't worry, Fidds." Ford moved to sit on Fiddleford's lap, straddling him. "We're going to sell the Peterson house _together._ "

"We really need to now," Fiddleford said.

"I love you, Fidds," Ford murmured, kissing him. "Thank you for being my husband."

"Ah love ya too, Ford," Fiddleford smiled softly. "We're gonna figure this out."

"Yes, but later," Ford said. "Because right now, I want to hump like a rescue dog at Rite Aid."

They began kissing heavily, when Tate walked in and knocked on the doorway.

"Hey, porn stars," he said. Ford turned around to look at him. Fiddleford sighed. "Powers' in the backyard lookin' at our grass. A good development? I don't think so."

"Ah'll go see what's up," Fiddleford said, getting out of bed and hurrying out of the room.

"Are you ok, Tate?" Ford asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Tate said. "I'm sixteen, I can deal with shit. By the way, I'm gonna be swearin' in front'a you guys now."

"That's fair," Ford nodded. "And I'm only going to be eating packaged meats from now on. We're going to get our lives back to normal. We'll just have this little family secret. Kind of like the time Dad got himself in the paper for putting out the fire that I started."

"This isn't yer remarkable ability ta set fire makin' mac an' cheese," Tate said. "There's a cop in our backyard who could send you ta jail fer murder."

"Alright, I'm going," Ford sighed, leaving the room.

* * *

Powers was kneeling in the grass, running his hands over it. He picked some of the blades out and sniffed it, making a face.

"Hey, Powers," Fiddleford spoke, appearing from the back door. "What's up?"

"Noticed you were spraying your lawn in the middle of the night with some kind of chemical," Powers explained, standing up.

"Yeah," Fiddleford nodded. Powers raised an eyebrow when he didn't elaborate. "We got ants."

"Ants?"

"Yeah. Y'know-" Fiddleford mimicked a snarling ant. "...they don't look like that, but we got 'em."

"And you needed to spray for them at 2:45 in the morning?" Powers asked.

"Ah was up, Ah figured they were, too," Fiddleford lied.

"What's going on?" Ford asked, coming outside.

"'Parently Powers saw us out here last night an' was wonderin' what we were doin'," Fiddleford explained.

"How about it's none of your fucking business, Powers?" Ford said. "Maybe that's what we were doing."

Fiddleford laughed nervously.

"Ah bet, as sheriff deputy, people don' usually talk t'ya like that 'cause it only raises suspicion where there shouldn' be any," Fiddleford looked pointedly at Ford. "So we were sprayin' fer ants an' that's settled." He took Powers by the shoulder and began leading him to the fence gate. "Listen, it ain't great that ya walk into our yard like this. So let's not do that no more?"

"You want to stay on top of an ant problem, Fiddleford," Powers said. "It could overwhelm you."

"...right," Fiddleford nodded uneasily. "But remember my thing, too."

They watched as Powers finally left.

* * *

Fiddleford walked around the halls of the City College.

"Excuse me," he spoke to someone pushing a body down the hall. "Do ya know where Ah might find Dr. Hasmedi's office?"

"What do you need him for?" The guy asked.

"Ah... Ah just got a few questions," Fiddleford said.

"Fine. Don't tell me," the guy said. Fiddleford frowned. "I'm fucking with you, man. No one tells me anything, so we're cool. End of the hall, make a left, then a right."

"Thank ya," Fiddleford nodded and went down the hall.

"Whatever..." the guy mumbled, continuing to walk, "douchebag."

Fiddleford looked back at him and frowned.

Fiddleford walked down the hall, looking at the signs by the doors. Finally he reached Dr. Hasmedi's office and knocked on the doorway.

"Come in!" Dr. Hasmedi called.

"Dr. Hasmedi?" Fiddleford spoke.

"Yes?"

"Hello, Ah'm Fiddleford Pines," he introduced himself.

"'Pines', like the tree?" Dr. Hasmedi asked.

"Ha, yeah," Fiddleford nodded anxiously. "Ah just have a few questions 'bout somethin' that's happenin' t' a friend that Ah'm wonderin' if might be a virus an' where Ah might go fer help."

* * *

Ford hurriedly dug through the fridge, looking for the packaged meats Fiddleford had bought. He pulled out the chicken and tore into the packaging. He grabbed a piece and bit into it, only to immediately spit it back up in disgust. He looked at the chicken in concern and then grabbed the hamburger meat. He tore it open and sniffed at it, gagging. A look of realization and horror dawned on him.

"Oh no."

* * *

"So the person's blood is dry?"

"Not like a powder, more..." Fiddleford struggled to find the words, "just thick. Kind'a a tar-like substance."

"Tar?" Hasmedi questioned.

"-Like substance," Fiddleford finished.

"And they only eat raw meat," Hasmedi clarified.

"That's right," Fiddleford nodded. "An'..." He grabbed a baggie from the floor and held it up, showing the thing Ford had thrown up. "They threw up this."

Hasmedi took the bag and looked it over.

"Hm."

"Ah saved it in formaldehyde," Fiddleford said.

"That was... good thinking," Hasmedi said. "Do you mind if I ask a colleague to join us?"

"If ya think it'll help, a'course." Fiddleford nodded.

* * *

Tate walked through the school hall. He passed by Ellie, who was holding a robot.

"Hey," she greeted. "Wait, why aren't you in class?"

"After last night, school just seems so... trivial," Tate shrugged. "I could not listen ta Mrs. Flothman talk 'bout the Punic Wars."

"S-So you're just leaving?" Ellie asked.

"Yeah, like the Punics did from Sicily," Tate confirmed. "Huh. I was listenin'." Ellie chuckled. "Who's this?"

"Oh, uh, I built him for science," Ellie smiled proudly. "He can walk and talk. King Robot Baratheon, say hi to Tate."

She held the robot out, but nothing happened. Ellie groaned.

"Fucking thing," she complained. "I spent like six weeks on it."

"My dad could probably help you out," Tate said. "He used ta build robots all the time."

He turned to leave.

"Wait, where are you going?" Ellie asked.

"I got no idea," Tate answered. "I've never ditched before."

"...hang on, I'll come with you!" Ellie called. Tate turned to look at her. "I know a place we can go."

"Ok," Tate smiled.

"Ok," Ellie nodded. She set the robot down in the corner and went to follow Tate.

" _Nice to meet you,_ " the robot said.

"You are unbelievable," Ellie said to it.

* * *

Hasmedi looked at the ball with his colleague.

"Do ya think it's an organ?" Fiddleford asked.

"Do _you_ think it's an organ?" The lady asked.

"It might be," Fiddleford frowned. "What do ya think it means?"

"What do _you_ think it means?" The lady repeated.

"Ah dunno. Death?" Fiddleford guessed. The other two glanced at each other.

"Where'd you get it?" Hasmedi asked.

"Ah told ya, my friend threw it up," Fiddleford said, taking the baggie back.

"Mr. Pines, I'd like you to come with me to the fifth floor," the lady smiled.

"Why? What's goin' on up there?" Fiddleford asked.

"Until we figure out what this is and who it came from, I think it'd be best for you to stay with us," the lady said gently.

"...you ain't a virologist, are ya?" Fiddleford squinted.

"No."

"Yer a psychiatrist?"

"Yes."

"But she's excellent," Hasmedi said. Fiddleford nodded at them and left the room. As he hurried down the hall, his phone rang and he answered it.

"Hi, honey," he said.

 _"How did it go?"_ Ford asked.

"Well, they haven' heard 'bout any outbreaks, but they might be chasin' me," Fiddleford said. "What's up?"

 _"Carl called. And the buyers want to come_ now _."_

"Now? What did ya tell 'im?" Fiddleford asked.

"To shut the fuck up," Ford said, digging at the garden outside the house.

 _"Oh, Lord. Ya gotta stop sayin' that ta people,"_ Fiddleford sighed.

"Well, he's always yelling at me," Ford said. "I don't like it anymore."

_"Alright, stay put. Ah'll be there in 45 minutes. Did ya eat today?"_

"I wasn't hungry," Ford lied. "And I'm already at the listing."

 _"Gosh,"_ Fiddleford groaned. _"Ok, Ah'm on my way. Try not ta swear at nobody."_

"Fuck you, I'm not an idiot."

_"There ya go, just like that."_

* * *

Fiddleford pulled up to the house and dumped out a bag of packaged meats on the counter.

"Ah think y'should eat somethin'," he said. "Y'know how ya get."

Ford sniffed at a package and groaned.

"I can't eat meat anymore," he grimaced.

"Whaddya mean?" Fiddleford asked. "That's all you can eat."

"I've been trying all morning, but it repulses me ever since I had Gary," Ford explained.

"...well, we can't start killin' people," Fiddleford said. "We're gettin' life back ta normal. An' killin' people ain't normal, hon."

"I know-"

"Then dig in!" Fiddleford pushed the meat towards Ford.

"But what if, once I've tasted human flesh, I can't go back?" Ford worried. Fiddleford stared at him for a minute.

"Ok," he walked around the counter towards Ford. "Maybe it's the freshness'a it, not the human-ness. 'Cause Gary was super fresh. Maybe you can only eat an animal if it's just been killed. Could that be it?"

"What if it's not?" Ford said.

"What if it is?" Fiddleford argued.

"What if it's _not_?"

"What if it _is_?"

"All I know is that I am getting hungry," Ford said.

"...y'ate yesterday," Fiddleford countered. Ford gave him a look.

"Thank you, food police," he glared. "You eat every day!"

The doorbell rang and they turned towards the front door.

"That's them," Fiddleford said. Ford sighed. "Let me take the lead. Ah really think that'll work best."

"Ok, I'll try," Ford nodded. "I'm just not sure holding back is my thing anymore."

He danced a little.

"What if it is?" Fiddleford pleaded.

"What if it's not?" Ford argued.

"What if it-?" Fiddleford cut off as Ford grinned. He groaned and Ford went for the front door. "Lord, please let this go well."

The two of them answered the door to see the couple and their agent.

"Hi!"

"Welcome!"

"Where's Gary?" The agent asked.

"No one knows," Fiddleford smiled.

"Which is _so_ Gary," Ford rolled his eyes.

"Wild," Fiddleford agreed.

"...are you feeling ok?" The agent asked.

"Totally," Ford nodded.

"He's great," Fiddleford confirmed. "We're gonna take such good care'a y'all."

"Yay."

"Yay."

* * *

"An' you remember the beautiful master bedroom, with south-facin' windows an' impossible-ta-stain texture-plush carpetin'."

"Mm, I love this room," the wife said.

"Then you should buy it," Ford said. "Along with all the other rooms!" The others chuckled. "Leslie, Bill, what are you doing?"

"...excuse me?"

"Excuse me?" Fiddleford repeated.

"This is your fourth time here," Ford continued. "I mean, come on."

"Stanf'rd-"

"We're just nervous about such a big investment," Leslie said.

"Look, here's the deal with life," Ford said. "No matter how much we want to control it, we can't always know where it's going to take us. Change is scary. Right, Fiddleford?"

"...let's look at the kitchen," Fiddleford said.

"Everyone is afraid of change," Ford continued. "But when life is screaming 'This is your new truth', you need to accept it." He looked at his husband. "Be bold, be brave, and live your new truth, no matter what it is."

Leslie smiled and nodded in agreement.

"Ok, Ah would just add that sometimes we may think life is tellin' us our truth, but we might not have enough information yet," Fiddleford said. "So, it's important ta explore all the options an' exhaust every possibility a'fore doin' somethin' crazy." He looked from Ford and back at the couple, who looked a bit confused. "But, a'course, you should buy this house!"

They chuckled and laughed, when suddenly there was a loud crowing from outside.

"Is that a rooster?" Bill asked.

"Comforting, like being on a farm," the agent smiled.

"Uh, actually, loud," Bill corrected. "Especially first thing in the morning."

"Maybe you should go next door an' see what that's about," Fiddleford told Ford. "Check out that very live bird."

"Mm, I'll do that," Ford nodded. "Because I, too, would like to find a simple solution to this problem."

* * *

Ford pulled a plastic poncho out of the car trunk and quickly went over to get the rooster.

* * *

Fiddleford was showing the couple around the rest of the house.

"The owners have had a few offers fall through, so they're real motivated," he was saying. He glanced out the window to see Ford wearing the poncho and trying to catch the rooster. The bird squealed and clucked, and when Bill turned to see what was going on, Fiddleford led him towards the bedroom door. "Ah'm takin' y'all to the kitchen, an' Ah mean it this time."

He smiled nervously and led them out of the room.

* * *

Tate and Ellie entered a comic store.

"I appreciate you ditchin' with me," Tate said. "I'm just not sure a comic book store is gonna be my thing."

"That's like saying every world you could ever imagine isn't your thing," Ellie said. "This place is great. You're really gonna like it here." They started walking around and Ellie waved at the cashier. "Hey, Bunchen."

"Thirty seconds, Ellie," the man said, reading his comic.

"We can't read anything for more than thirty seconds without buying it," Ellie explained. "This is Tate."

"Hey," Tate waved. The cashier looked up at him and then back down.

"Thirty seconds," he repeated.

"He has a master's in art history and lives with his mom, so..." Ellie said quietly as they walked. "He's pretty angry." Tate grabbed a comic off the shelf and flipped through it. " _Night Scurrier._ A hideous mutant lives in sludge at the bottom of a swamp where he feels nothing but shame."

"Aw, he just needs to find the right girl," Tate joked. "Or guy."

"Yeah," Ellie chuckled. "It's just hard because he's mostly seaweed."

"Oh," Tate nodded.

"...so how are you doing?" Ellie asked, looking through a comic.

"Why does everyone keep askin' me that?" Tate asked.

"I don't know why other people do, but I'm asking because you saw your dads scrape a half-eaten dead guy into a grave," Ellie said.

"Please," Tate scoffed. "I once walked in on my aunt and uncle doing it in their hotel room on a vacation. That was intense. Besides, Pa and Dad want our lives ta go back t'normal, so I guess that's what's happenin'."

"Thirty seconds!"

"Parents always want life to be normal," Ellie said. "When my mom and dad got divorced, my mom said everything would be the same, but nothing was. I still see my dad, sure, but my mom married a horrible dickwad shithead asshole who she thinks I'm too critical of."

Tate smiled and looked back the shelf. He frowned, grabbing a comic titled 'Dadbie'.

" _Dadbie._ That's not a good one," Ellie said.

"It's ok," Tate waved her hand away. "I'm- I'm ok."

"That's nothing like your dad, Tate," Ellie said. "Your dad may stay exactly like he is forever and everything will be fine."

"I know, I'm just lookin' at it," Tate said, although it was obvious that he sounded upset.

"Thirty seconds!"

"What does it matter, Bunchen?!" Tate snapped.

"Ellie!" Bunchen yelled.

"It's all good," Ellie assured. "Uh, come on, Tate. Here, check out _Njor Skuvelkrodd._ It's from the Netherlands. Brilliant stuff." She grabbed the comic and showed it off. "Njor gets lost in time and becomes his own lover."

Tate ignored her, frowning at the _Dadbie_ comic.

"Dadvie eats the family dog?" He questioned. "Why would he do that?"

"Because he's crazy," Ellie said. "It doesn't mean anything. Hey, why don't we go to the beach, huh?"

"Thirty seconds, Ellie's friend," Bunchen insisted, walking over.

"Tate. My name is Tate," Tate answered, finally looking away from the comic.

"Oh, _Tate_. Well that changes everything!" Bunchen replied sarcastically.

"I'll buy it," Ellie volunteered.

"No, I haven' decided if I want it yet," Tate said.

"Thirty seconds," Bunchen said. "Why is that so hard-?"

Tate jumped at the man and knocked him to the ground, pinning him to the floor by his neck.

"Maybe I just don' feel like followin' all the rules today, ok Bunchen?" Tate threatened.

"Ok, wow," Ellie gaped. "Ta- hey, Tate-"

"That's fine, Tate," Bunchen nodded. "You take all the time you need."

"Thank you," Tate smiled and stood up. He faced Ellie, who still looked in shock. "You were right. I do like it here."

"...good," Ellie smiled and nodded.

* * *

The couple opened the fridge in the house and looked inside.

"Brand new," Fiddleford said. "It's got speed chill technology."

"So you can place a warm pot inside without worrying about increasing the entire internal temperature," Ford smiled, entering the room. "And I've been assured that the rooster will no longer be a problem."

Fiddleford blew a feather off of Ford's shoulder and smiled.

Soon, the couple was leaving happily.

"Thank you so much," Leslie smiled. "Bye."

"We'll get yer offer in right away," Fiddleford promised, closing the door behind the couple.

"We did it!" Ford grinned. "We got an offer!"

"We got an offer!" Fiddleford agreed happily. "An' ya ate, right?"

"And it's a good offer, too," Ford ignored Fiddleford.

"Yeah, it's great. An' ya ate, right?" Fiddleford pressed.

"I'm so excited!" Ford beamed. He started hopping in place. "We should jump up and down! Maybe we could make it our new thing whenever we get an offer."

"So you ate the rooster, right?" Fiddleford repeated. "'Cause Ah also wanna jump up an' down."

"Then you should do it!" Ford nodded happily. Fiddleford cheered and set the offer on the coffee table before starting to jump as well.

"We sold a house!" He grinned and grabbed onto Ford's arms. "An' we can raise chickens 'r maybe a lamb! An' it'll be just like the farm back in Tennessee."

Ford stopped jumping and looked at Fiddleford. He stopped jumping as well, smile falling a little.

"What?"

"...I couldn't eat the rooster," Ford sighed.

"But..." Fiddleford looked distraught. "Ah jumped..."

"I'm sorry," Ford frowned. "I wanted you to be happy, even just for a minute."

"But it was alive, like Gary," Fiddleford protested.

"Yeah, but Gary tasted so good," Ford said. Fiddleford gave him a look. "Again, tiny balls."

"We can' kill people, Stanf'rd," Fiddleford shook his head.

"I know..." Ford turned away and sat on the couch. "What if I just ate pieces of people and then we let them go? No, that's worse."

"...come with me," Fiddleford held out a hand and pulled Ford to his feet.

"Where?" Ford asked.

"Ah'm takin' you t'dinner," Fiddleford smiled.

* * *

The two of them stood outside the morgue, where someone inside was working on a dead body.

"This place is creepy," Ford whispered.

"Yeah, well, so're we," Fiddleford countered. He knocked on the window and the man inside looked up. He walked over and opened the door.

"Yeah?" He asked.

"...Ah'm just gonna give you $100," Fiddleford said, opening his wallet and handing over the bill, "an' that's just fer openin' the door." The man looked between the two of them. "This is my husband."

"Hello," Ford waved. Fiddleford looked around the hall.

"We need a body," he said quietly. The man nodded slowly.

"You gonna fuck it?" He asked. The grin slid from Fiddleford's face and he looked at Ford. Both of them looked confused and disgusted.

"Yes..." Fiddleford lied. "We're gonna screw it."

"All night long," Ford agreed.

"So... what would that cost?" Fiddleford asked. "We'd want ta take it with us, a'course, 'cause we're shy."

"Well you know, it's gonna cost extra 'cause there's two of you," the man said.

"That seems arbitrary," Fiddleford said. "Ah mean, if yer rentin' a car, ya don't pay per person."

"You do if both people are fucking it," the man said.

"Just tell us how much," Ford said.

"Five grand. Cash."

"Five grand?!" Fiddleford exclaimed.

"You got an expensive hobby, lover boy," the man said. Ford moaned a bit. Fiddleford pulled out his wallet.

"What can we get fer... another $400?" He asked. Ford grabbed a card and held it up.

"And a Starbucks card," he added.

* * *

Ford and Fiddleford sat in the car as Ford pulled a severed foot out of a bag.

"Yum," Fiddleford chuckled nervously. "Looks tasty."

Ford glanced at him before biting into the foot. Fiddleford grimaced. Ford smiled and nodded and Fiddleford grinned, but then Ford made a face and spat out the piece of flesh.

"I can't," he said. "The meat is too old. And it tastes like chemicals."

"Come on, sweetheart," Fiddleford said. "It's the most expensive meal Ah've ever bought'cha."

"I-I can't-"

"Please eat the foot," Fiddleford begged.

"Fiddleford-"

"Please, eat it."

Ford looked at him in distress.

* * *

That night, the two of them laid in bed. Fiddleford laid his head on Ford's chest, still unsettled by the lack of a heartbeat.

"Ah'm sorry Ah kept pushin' ya," Fiddleford said quietly.

"It's been a stressful 24 hours," Ford said. "...why is this happening to me?"

"Ah don' know," Fiddleford said.

"Do you think it could have been those clams at Greasy's?" Ford asked.

"Ah don' know," Fiddleford repeated. Ford groaned.

"I miss food," he complained. Fiddleford rubbed his chest. "Like, I'm seriously hungry."

Fiddleford looked up at him and sat up.

"We're gonna kill people, darlin'," he said. "We're gonna kill people so's you can eat 'em."

"You don't have to do it with me, Fidds," Ford said softly.

"We've been the Fords since college," Fiddleford said. "I ain't gonna bail on ya now." Ford smiled. "Although this is gonna be real fun t'explain when Ah die." Ford chuckled and sat up to kiss him. "So... who do we kill?"

As they were thinking, there was a knock on the door. They looked over to see Tate.

"Hey, Tate," Ford frowned.

"Are you ok, Tater tot?" Fiddleford asked.

"What's up?" Ford asked as Tate laid down in bed between them.

"...things ain't ever gonna be normal again, are they?" Tate asked.

"Of course they are," Ford lied.

"It's just a few little changes," Fiddleford nodded.

"Like the car," Ford smiled. "Did we tell you we're keeping the car?"

"That's gonna be a great change," Fiddleford chuckled. Tate laughed and smiled before closing his eyes. Ford and Fiddleford looked at each other, their own smiles quickly slipping.


	3. We Can Kill People

It was morning in Gravity Falls. Fiddleford was drinking coffee and cooking himself breakfast while Ford washed dishes.

"I'm worried about Tate crawling in bed with us last night," he said. "He hasn't done that since he was eight. He must be having trouble coping. God, there's so many ways to mess up your children." He looked at Fiddleford, who didn't respond. "Fidds?"

"We have ta kill someone today so's you can eat 'em, sweetheart," Fiddleford finally looked up. "Ah'm worried 'bout Tate too, but Ah can' stop thinkin' bout the murderin' an' eatin' thing."

"I know we have to kill someone today, but we have to be parents every day," Ford countered. Fiddleford nodded and took a bite of his omelet. "God, I'm so hungry. I haven't eaten in two days."

"Ah know," Fiddleford said.

"How's that omelet, darling?" Ford asked. "Good?"

"Yeah, Ah'm tryin' this new thing with the sundried tomat-" Fiddleford took another bite and looked over at Ford, who obviously wasn't happy. "Oh... sorry."

Ford shrugged and shook his head, not taking his eyes off of Fiddleford.

"Just swallow what's in your mouth," he said. Fiddleford nodded and swallowed. "Do you remember that dinner we had in Tuscany?"

"On the terrace, outside the castle," Fiddleford smiled.

"I keep thinking about how good that waiter would taste right now," Ford sighed happily. Fiddleford frowned a bit. Tate came running into the kitchen.

"Runnin' late!" He announced, grabbing his backpack. "I'll grab somethin' at Starbucks."

Ford and Fiddleford looked at each other and Fiddleford nodded at where Tate had disappeared to. Ford turned and hurried after him.

"Wait a second, buddy," Ford called. Tate turned to face him and Fiddleford appeared in the doorway. "I know there's been a lot of changes in the last couple of days, but one thing hasn't. Your father and I are here for you if you ever need to talk."

"Ah got an idea," Fiddleford spoke. "Startin' tonight, we should have regular family dinners. Tell each other what's on our minds. No judgments." Tate gave them a look. "Like the kind Ah see on yer face right now."

"Sounds awesome," Tate replied. "So what, or should I say who, are we eating tonight?"

"Whom," Ford corrected. "And as I've told you, from now on I'm only eating raw chicken and beef. And we will be having a side dish of 'How is Tate doing?'. And maybe some Spanish rice."

"You really wanna know how Tate's doin'?" Tate asked. "Tate doesn't like that his parents are all up in his b."

"Your butt?" Ford looked confused as Tate turned to leave.

"No! My business!" Tate corrected.

"Oh. Ok. Well, have a good day at school-!" Ford was cut off as Tate slammed the door behind him. Ford turned to face Fiddleford. "I feel bad lying to him, but I don't want Tate to know his parents are going to be killing people."

"Yeah, he thinks so little'a us already," Fiddleford agreed. Him and Ford started walking back into the house. "So, Ah was thinkin'. If we're gonna do this, we gotta do it right. We can' just kill anybody. We have ta kill someone who won' be missed."

"Someone without a family," Ford nodded.

"Right," Fiddleford confirmed. "An' someone bad, who deserves it."

"Yes. Like who?" Ford asked.

"Ah dunno," Fiddleford said. "Ah guess the prototype would be a young, single Hitler."

"Oh, that would be great," Ford laughed. "Like my own private 'Fuck you' revenge."

* * *

The two of them were getting ready for the day in their bathroom.

"An' when we do find someone, we have ta be prepared," Fiddleford added. "No more impulse killin'; it's too risky."

"I agree completely," Ford nodded.

"We have ta get tarps, gloves, mops, sponges, bleach ta clean up the blood," Fiddleford listed. "...all the blood. So much blood. Blood everywhere."

"Fidds?" Ford spoke.

"Yessum?" Fiddleford looked over at him.

"You don't have to go with me," Ford said.

"I ain't sendin' ya out ta do this alone, darlin'," Fiddleford said. "We're doin' it together."

Ford smiled.

"But I'll do the actual killing, alright?" He said. "So you don't have to worry about that."

"Yay," Fiddleford said weakly.

* * *

Ford sat on the bed, pulling his socks on.

"What if we kill that dentist who got that woman pregnant while she was having her wisdom teeth out?" He suggested.

"Ah think that was just a Lifetime movie," Fiddleford said.

"Oh, right," Ford frowned. "Those are fun. ...hey, what about that shitty woman in my science group?"

"Don't she got kids?" Fiddleford asked.

"Yeah, but they're shitty too," Ford rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry, it's the hunger talking."

"Man, where're all the young, single Hitlers?" Fiddleford sighed.

* * *

"Oh hey, your mom called," Ford said as they were going out to the car. "She said she has a friend who might have a listing for us."

"Was it Joan?" Fiddleford asked. "She's got that amazin' four-bedroom."

"That's the house," Ford nodded. "Swimmer's pool, chef's kitchen-"

There was a knock on the car window and they turned to see Powers. Fiddleford rolled down the window.

"I was just wondering, what kind of spray are you using on those ants of yours?" Powers asked.

"What kind'a ant spray?" Fiddleford questioned.

"You told me you were spraying ants in the middle of the night," Powers said. "Now I want to know what you were using."

"Why do you do this, Powers?" Ford asked.

"I'm just asking my neighbor a friendly question," Powers said. "Well, Fiddleford?"

"Ah dunno," Fiddleford lied. " _Ants Away_ , _Ants Be Gone_ , _Screw You, Ants._ "

"Fuck you, ants," Ford repeated.

"...you people need to take this more seriously," Powers said. "You never want a sloppy kill. You leave anything behind, it's gonna come back and bite you in the ass." Ford and Fiddleford stared at him. "Ford, Fiddleford."

Powers smiled and walked off.

* * *

"Ah'm tellin' ya, he's onto us," Fiddleford was saying. The two of them were walking through the store with a cart.

"We don't know that," Ford said.

"Who talks 'bout ants with that much intensity an' innuendo?" Fiddleford asked.

"Maybe he's just obsessed with them," Ford suggested. "Did you know that ants can carry up to 50 times their weight? They're not uninteresting creatures, Fidds."

"We should buy some other stuff so we don' look suspicious," Fiddleford said quietly.

"Suspicious that we're cleaning our house?" Ford raised an eyebrow.

"We also need taco shells fer Taco Tuesday," Fiddleford announced as he set a mop in the cart. "Which gets so messy!"

"...I feel bad that I wasted so much of Gary," Ford said. "We recycle, we compost, and yet I threw away 150 pounds of meat."

"You ate as much as ya could, hon," Fiddleford said. "Even Gary wouldn' have expected ya t' finish him."

"Oh," Ford looked at the end of the aisle at the freezers. "Flash-frozen seafood."

"...that looks good t'ya?" Fiddleford asked excitedly. "We never tried feedin' ya fish."

Ford squinted at him.

"We're going to have to work on how you talk about me," he said. "No, frozen is the closest thing to fresh. What if we got a meat freezer and put it in the storage unit and when we kill somebody, then we can just chisel off chunks of it when I need to eat? No more waste."

"...wow," Fiddleford whispered. "There's gonna be chiselin'."

"Fidds, I can do this on my own," Ford said. Fiddleford took a deep breath and smiled, holding onto Ford's shoulders.

"No. Ah'm goin' with ya," he insisted. "Ah'm fine."

* * *

Fiddleford sat in a bathroom stall, smoking a joint. He sighed, looking up at the ceiling.

"Oh Lord, help me," he whispered.

* * *

Tate and Ellie walked out of a restaurant holding trays.

"Hey, uh, I was thinking," Ellie began. "Maybe instead of ditching again today, we could _go_ to class as an act of rebellion? Like the sit-ins of the Civil Rights movement. Except we'll be sitting at desks and have no real moral imperative."

"After everythin' that's happened the last couple of days, school's too borin'," Tate said as they sat down at a table. "I want ta do somethin' excitin'. ...Janie Lewis ran across the freeway!"

"So that's out," Ellie said. She thought for a minute. "Oh, my stepdad has a bunch of intense riot gear in the garage. Sometimes my friend Jackson and I will put on the body armor and just hit each other with sticks. ...hard. You can barely feel it."

"I don' wanna do that," Tate said.

"Yeah, it's not for everybody," Ellie looked down at her food.

"Hey, Six Minute Abs," a girl greeted, walking out of the restaurant and joining them at their table. "Robot Girl."

"Oh, it's Ellie," Tate introduced.

"It's ok. Hi, Sarah Elizabeth Newton," Ellie greeted nervously.

"What are you doing here?" Sarah asked. "You don't ditch school."

"Just tryin' shit out," Tate waved it off.

"I love that for you," Sarah grinned.

"I once bought a ferret," Ellie said. The other two looked at her. "I mean, if we're all talking about trying shit out... I bought a ferret."

There was a long awkward silence.

"Ok, are you ditchin' today too?" Tate asked Sarah. "Do you wanna hang out?"

"Oh no, I can't," Sarah said. "I'm seeing Cole. Look what he got me for our three-month anniversary." She showed off her bracelet. "God, he's such a sweet boy."

"He ain't a boy, Sarah," Tate said. "He's a 26-year-old drug dealer who drives a car that says 'Ask me about my tiny dick'."

They turned to see Cole's car pulling up in the parking lot.

"Yo, Sarah!" He called.

"Don't be jealous," Sarah smiled. "I just have an exciting life. And, by the way, it is a _perfect_ starter dick. Ok, I'll call you tonight."

She grabbed her bags and walked over to the car.

"Yeah, I don' got an excitin' life at all," Tate said sarcastically, turning back to Ellie. "I mean, I just got an undead dad an' we buried a half-eaten corpse in the forest."

"Your dad really raised the bar," Ellie chuckled. "I just wish I could think of something super fun to do."

"Mm," Tate drank from his cup and nodded. Ellie perked up.

"Do you like games that test your-?"

"No."

"Yeah me neither," Ellie said quickly.

"It's ok," Tate assured. "It ain't yer job ta make me happy."

"Sounds like it was and I just got fired," Ellie said. Tate shrugged.

"He broke up with me," Sarah said, walking back over to the table. "He didn't even get out of his car _and_ he took my quesadilla." She sat down and frowned. "He drive-thru dumped me."

"That jerk," Tate frowned. "I'm sorry, Sarah."

"You can have one of my taquitos," Ellie offered.

"I don't want a taquito," Sarah pouted, taking and biting into one of the taquitos. "That middle-aged fuck boy! And I left my blue sweater at his house."

"The one I got ya for yer birthday?" Tate asked. "I love that sweater."

" _I_ love that sweater," Sarah agreed. "I wanna get back at him."

Tate looked thoughtful.

"...that's somethin' we could do today," he said to Ellie.

"Go after a drug dealer?" She asked in shock. "That sounds a little dangerous."

"I know, right?" Tate grinned.

"...yeah, for sure," Ellie nodded in agreement. "We should lean into that."

* * *

Ford and Fiddleford looked at the meat freezer they had brought to the storage unit.

"Well, we bought a freezer ta keep bodies in, so that's done," Fiddleford said, his arms crossed.

"All we need now is someone evil, deserving, who won't be missed, and is under 18 cubic feet," Ford said.

"Y'know we can' kill yer dad, right?" Fiddleford said.

"I wasn't thinking that, but that would be fun," Ford said. His stomach rumbled. "My stomach's growling."

* * *

Stan was spraying the plants in the front yard when Ford and Fiddleford walked up.

"Hey, Stan," Fiddleford greeted, but he didn't answer.

"Stan," Ford repeated a little louder. Stan jumped and turned around, pulling out his earbuds.

"Oh, hey guys," he waved. "Sorry, I was just listening to music."

"Cool. So yer a cop," Fiddleford said. "Are there any criminals who live in this neighborhood?"

"You know, real animals, society's waste, people so bad that they live alone," Ford clarified.

"The reason we ask is 'cause we got some clients who want ta know 'bout crime and specifically where bad people live," Fiddleford explained.

"Well, this neighborhood's pretty good," Stan said.

"Oh," Ford and Fiddleford said dejectedly.

"But a pedophile just moved in down the street," Stan said.

"Oh?"

"A pedophile's perfect," Ford murmured. Stan raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, perfect," Fiddleford tried to sound sarcastic. "That's just what we need, right?"

"No kidding," Stan rolled his eyes. "I got two 13-year-olds and a nine-year-old who hates listening to me or Bella. I'm freaked out."

"So what's this guy look like?" Fiddleford asked.

"About 35, Italian, beefy," Stan said. He walked over to water another area of plants. Ford sighed and grinned.

"So this beefy Italian, walking distance?" He asked hopefully.

"Don't worry about it," Stan said. "All pedophiles are on the registry. Very closely monitored."

"Really?" Ford said sadly.

"Yeah, sick bastards," Stan nodded. "They can't even buy a bottle of lotion without us knowing about it." He looked away, not noticing Ford and Fiddleford's dejected looks. "Lee, don't ride that thing in the front yard! I told you, stay in the back!"

* * *

"Just remember, there are no bad ideas in brainstorming," Ford said. He and Fiddleford walked into their house. "What if I ate Powers?"

"Ah think there are bad ideas in brainstormin'," Fiddleford said. "Y'can't eat our neighbor!"

"Come on, it would get some of the suspicion off our backs," Ford said. "I need food, I'm losing my mind!"

"Why is it so hard ta find someone ta kill?" Fiddleford complained. "Every time Ah get coffee, there's some jerk yellin' at the barista."

* * *

"Maybe I get back at Cole by sending a dozen pizzas to his house," Sarah said thoughtfully. She, Tate, and Ellie were walking down the street to Tate's house.

"No, we gotta think bigger than that," Tate said. "We need somethin' epic, unfergettable."

"Yet proportionate," Ellie added.

"Screw proportionate," Tate said.

"Ssh, Tate's home," Ford whispered in the house. The front door open and the three teens came inside.

"I mean, we're talkin' 'bout a guy who is literally the worst person ever," Tate said.

"'Worst person ever'," Ford repeated quietly, grinning.

"I'm interested," Fiddleford said. Ford waved for them to hide around the corner.

"The man is a monster," Ellie agreed.

"Yeah, he's 26 an' has sex with underage girls," Tate complained.

"Ooh, I like the sound of that," Ford whispered.

"Plus, he sells drugs ta kids," Tate added.

"He sells drugs ta kids," Fiddleford repeated quietly.

"I swear, I had no idea about that when we started dating," Sarah said as the three of them went upstairs.

"His Instagram is Kidweed!" Tate said.

"I thought that was ironic," Sarah defended. Ford and Fiddleford hurried over to Fiddleford's laptop and looked up the account.

"Excuse me, waiter?" Ford said, pointing at a picture. "I'll have that."

* * *

Ford was taping plastic over the house's counters. They were in an empty house they were trying to sell.

"Did ya know, in three weeks, we'll have had this listin' fer a year?" Fiddleford asked as he spread plastic over the kitchen.

"It's not our fault," Ford said. "It's priced too high, the seller won't come down, and there's about to be a murder in here."

"Hey, if ya can, try t' keep it contained," Fiddleford requested. "Not ta be critical, darlin', but Gary looked like he swallowed some TNT."

"It's no worse that what you did to the turkey on Thanksgiving," Ford said.

"...we need new knives," Fiddleford said.

"So buy some," Ford told him.

"They're expensive, an' they just get dull," Fiddleford complained. He looked up at the sound of a car approaching. He pulled back the plastic to look out the window and see the car pulling up in the driveway. He turned back to look at Ford.

"Are you ok?" He asked.

"Yeah," Fiddleford nodded.

"You know, we have a gift certificate to Williams-Sonoma," Ford said.

* * *

Cole stepped out of the car and flicked his joint into the grass. He went up to the front door of the house and rang the doorbell. After a moment, Ford and Fiddleford answered wearing plastic ponchos and rubber gloves.

"Cole!" Fiddleford grinned.

"So glad you made it!" Ford smiled.

"It's good ta meet'cha," Fiddleford said, shaking his hand.

"Great to meet you!" Ford nodded.

"Why are you guys dressed like that?" Cole asked. "Are you like, coloring each other's hair or something?"

"No, but that would have been a good explanation," Ford said.

"Actually, we're real estate brokers who've been havin' trouble sellin' this place," Fiddleford explained. "Eager ta make it more appealin', we're repaintin' the kitchen. Get in here."

"Ok," Cole laughed. He went inside and walked to the kitchen, Ford and Fiddleford trailing behind.

"We should act more normal," Ford said quietly.

"Ah'm doin' the best Ah can," Fiddleford said. They reached the kitchen, where Cole was looking around at the plastic. "Can Ah get'cha a water drink, Cole?" He winced and looked away. "Curse my southern hospitality."

"Actually, I had a couple beers on the drive over, so I'm good," Cole said. He dug through his bag and Ford walked around behind him. "You guys couldn't have picked a better place to make a buy. I mean, an empty house at the end of the street? It's like, 'Hey, there's a drug deal going down in here!'" He laughed loudly. "Oh wait, nobody can hear me yelling!"

The three of them laughed.

"We'll see," Fiddleford nodded and smiled nervously.

"You guys ordered a half ounce of Skywalker OG Kush," Cole said. Ford prepared to attack behind him. "Which is an excellent choice, by the way."

"Oh my gosh, this is really happenin'," Fiddleford watched Ford.

"Oh, relax, bro," Cole scoffed. "You're just buying weed."

Fiddleford backed up as Ford was about to bite Cole, when suddenly Ford's phone started ringing. Cole and Fiddleford looked at him as Ford pulled his phone out.

"Oh my god, it's Joan," he gasped. "It might be about that listing they had. I gotta take this."

He left the room and Fiddleford went to follow him.

"Really?" He hissed.

"It has a swimmer's pool!" Ford defended, leaving the room. Fiddleford looked back at Cole awkwardly.

"Business," he chuckled nervously. He leaned against the kitchen doorway. "He shan't be long."

"'Shan't'?" Cole questioned.

"Ah'm doin' the best Ah can," Fiddleford sighed.

"...do we have to wait for him?" Cole asked.

"Absolutely," Fiddleford nodded. "...he's got the money."

Cole nodded. Fiddleford glanced back to where Ford had disappeared and his knee bounced anxiously.

"Well..." Cole looked around. "Man, I had a shitty day today. This girl I've been seeing told me she was 21, turned out to be 16. Obviously I had to break it off with her."

"...y'had no idea?" Fiddleford asked, walking over.

"No," Cole shook his head. "What kills me is I actually... I kinda liked her."

"...maybe we shouldn' talk," Fiddleford said quietly.

"Why not?" Cole frowned.

"It saddens me," Fiddleford answered. Cole shrugged.

"Mind if I smoke a little weed while we wait?" He asked.

* * *

The two of them ended up sitting at the edge of the pool outside, smoking together.

"So... sellin' drugs ta kids," Fiddleford said, taking a hit. "That seems pretty messed up."

He breathed out and passed the joint over to Cole.

"Well, it wasn't part of the plan, dude," he said. "You know? I mean, I started selling pot in high school. I grew up, I tried to get out of it and my dumb sister gets a divorce so I end up having to help her out. Sometimes you do shit you never expected for the people you love."

"...that is so true," Fiddleford murmured.

"I know, but then I look at you and I think you got a great career," Cole said. "You got a great husband. It's like, 'How do I get my face in front of a house, on a sweet sign next to a sweet lady?'"

"It's easy," Fiddleford shrugged a bit. "First yer in college an' ya date yer roommate."

"Mm."

"After that, yer workin' on technology that's supposed ta change the future, with a wife an' kid 'cause yer boyfrien' decided ta study weird stuff up in Oregon," Fiddleford continued. "But the marriage don't work out, so yer left tryin' ta find a way t' provide fer yer son. An' then yer ex calls ya up t'help with a 'secret project'."

"Wow."

"Yeah, well, that fails, y'start goin' crazy fer a bit until yer best friend finds ya and she an' yer boyfrien' help," Fiddleford smiled a bit. "So that whole disaster is averted, but yer still kinda... useless. Anyway, by this point I'm engaged, I got a kid, it's time ta get serious. My fiance's a realtor. Ah wake up one day an'... so am I. I ain't complainin'. Ah work my own hours, Ah only see my boss twice a week. Which is great, since he's kinda homophobic. It just ain't where Ah saw my life goin'."

"Wow man, that's just-" Cole began.

"An' now," Fiddleford interrupted. "Good Lord, if Ah told ya the crazy stuff happenin', you'd put me in an asylum. Probably already goin' ta Hell. Whatever, right? It's like my life is spiralin' toward disaster an' there's no way out. The worst part it, Ah can' even talk about it with the person Ah love most 'cause he'll blame himself an' that ain't what Ah want." 

He sighed and Cole watched him.

"...come on, come here," Cole said, offering a hug. "Come here."

Fiddleford hugged him back.

"...you ain't gonna die today," he said softly. Cole patted his back, looking confused.

"Ok..."

* * *

Fiddleford started peeling the plastic off the kitchen after Cole left. Ford entered the room, holding his phone.

"Sorry, everyone," he announced. "So rude." He looked around. "Where's Cole?"

"...Ah told him ta go," Fiddleford revealed, slowly turning around.

"...what?" Ford asked angrily.

"He's an ok guy, an' a real good listener," Fiddleford said. "He don't deserve ta die in an overpriced Spanish revival."

"I leave you for five fucking minutes and you bond with my dinner?" Ford snapped.

"...we had a lot in common," Fiddleford said quietly, shrinking away a bit.

"Yeah, you're both high," Ford glared.

* * *

The two of them were driving home in an awkward silence.

"I have to say, sometimes your smoking bugs me," Ford said.

"Well, Ah don't like that yer gonna be killin' an' eatin' folks, so we both got things that bug us," Fiddleford said. "An' by the way, they're legalizin' my thing."

"All I know is that if you hadn't lit a joint with your drug-dealing, statutory rapist friend, I would have eaten by now," Ford argued.

"He didn' know Sarah was 16," Fiddleford said. "An' he's helpin' his divorced sister."

"First of all, every creep who dated a teenager 'didn't know', ok?" Ford snapped. "And if we were playing _Family Feud_ and the category was 'Reasons To Sell Drugs To Kids', 'my sister's divorce' wouldn't even be up on the board."

Fiddleford glanced away guiltily.

* * *

Tate, Ellie, and Sarah stood outside Cole's house, staring inside.

"Your stepdad may be a dick," Tate held up a smoke bomb, "but he's got really cool toys."

"Finally, his right wing paranoia pays off," Ellie joked.

"Are you sure this isn't too crazy?" Sarah asked.

"Yeah, maybe he didn't know how old she was," Ellie said.

"What did he think she was doin' every day between 8:00 an' 3:30?" Tate asked. "At the high school, where he picked her up."

"Ok, I'm in," Ellie nodded. She and Sarah watched as Tate walked up to the house. He pulled at the pin of the smoke bomb and tossed it through the front window. They watched as smoke filled the living room.

"Ahh, smoke!" Cole yelled, running around the room. He continued to yell as Tate walked back down to the sidewalk. Cole ran out of the house, holding his eyes. He collapsed near the bushes and struggled to look for the hose. Tate turned around, smirking, and watched with Ellie and Sarah.

"I can't believe we did this," Sarah said. "Let's get out of here."

"I could leave," Ellie agreed.

"Not yet," Tate said. He pulled on a mask and walked back towards the house. He walked inside.

"What is he doing?" Sarah asked. After a minute, Tate walked back out, holding Sarah's blue sweater. He removed the mask, grinning.

"Here's yer sweater," he said, holding it out for Sarah. She laughed and grinned as she took it. Tate turned to look at Ellie. "It was not yer job ta make me happy today. But if it was, you'd be rehired."

He smiled and walked down the sidewalk, Sarah and Ellie staring after him.

"Six Minute fucking Abs," Sarah said in awe.

* * *

"I don't know how much longer I can go without food."

"We'll get'cha the Italian pedophile," Fiddleford said, glancing away from the road. "We'll just take the risk."

"What if you find out he's supporting his sister and you have to become best friends?" Ford asked.

"Ah don' wanna fight with'cha, hon," Fiddleford sighed. "That guy's pot was really good."

"Thank goodness for that," Ford said sarcastically. "I was worried you weren't high enough."

"Very funny," Fiddleford deadpanned. "Ooh, Burger King, that'd be excellent." Ford glared at him. "...if we were eatin'."

He quickly braked to a stop and accidentally knocked into the car in front of them.

"Goddamn it!" The guy yelled.

"Crap," Fiddleford frowned.

"Yeah, shit, I agree," Ford rolled his eyes.

"Pull over! Follow me!" The guy yelled, waving out of his window. They drove to an empty parking lot nearby and got out of their cards.

"Ah'm so sorry, sir," Fiddleford said. "Ah dunno how that happened."

The man looked at his car and then up at Fiddleford.

"That's a $10,000 job right there, fuckjar!" He snapped.

"That don't seem true," Fiddleford said. "An' 'f jar'? What's that?"

"It's a jar full of fuck, you fucker," the guy answered angrily.

"Wow," Fiddleford's jaw dropped.

"You blind?" The guy asked, waving a hand. "How could you not see me, asshole?!"

He yelled as Ford jumped on him and bit at his throat.

"Oh my gosh!" Fiddleford yelped and jumped away. Ford tore away a piece of flesh, face covered in blood.

"Are you sure you want your last words to be 'me, asshole'?" Ford asked.

"You shit," the man slurred before collapsing on the ground.

"Oh my gosh!" Fiddleford repeated, staring at the man in horror. Ford turned around, coming to.

"Oh, shit!" He cried. "What did I do?! I couldn't control it! And the street is right there, what if somebody sees us?! What are we going to do?"

"Ok, there's nobody around, it's dark, an' there's no security cameras," Fiddleford noted, looking around. "We'll wrap his body in a tarp, put it in our car, take it t' the storage unit where you can eat. Ah'll mop up the blood an' pour some bleach on the spot so it don't stain. We haven' touched his car, so we'll leave it here. Y'understand?"

"I understand it's super sexy when you take control," Ford murmured.

"Stanf'rd?"

"Right, put a pin in it," Ford nodded.

* * *

Fiddleford stuffed the man in the meat freezer as Ford sat nearby, eating one of the arms like corn on the cob.

"Mm. Man, this guy really hit the spot," he said.

"Ah just stuffed a man in a meat freezer," Fiddleford said. "Cross that off the bucket list."

"This part right here," Ford pointed to part of the wrist, "is like the human fillet."

"...the more ya know," Fiddleford grinned awkwardly. He grabbed the man's wallet and searched through it. "Porsche guy was from Nevada. He owned a strip club an' a waste management company."

He sat down beside Ford.

"Oh, nothing sketchy there," Ford said. "Any family photos?"

"Nope," Fiddleford shook his head. "Ah found pictures of a few women, but they were taken from inside a toilet, so probably not serious relationships."

"Maybe he won't be missed," Ford said hopefully.

"What a night," Fiddleford sighed. "We're gonna be ok."

He leaned back on the couch, leaning into Ford's arm wrapped around him.

"I love you, Fidds. So much," Ford said.

"Ah love ya too," Fiddleford smiled softly. He rested his head on Ford's shoulder. "Twenty-one years an' ya still find a way t' keep life excitin'." He suddenly sat up and looked at Ford. "We have our family dinner tonight."

"We can't go home to Tate like this," Ford frowned, looking down at his blood-stained clothes.

"Don' we got old clothes in some'a those boxes?" Fiddleford asked.

* * *

The three of them sat at the kitchen table. Ford was wearing a cat sweater and Fiddleford wore an old hoodie. They were all eating, and Ford happily took a bite of his meal.

"How was yer day?" Fiddleford asked Tate.

"Good," Tate nodded. "Yers?"

"Good," Fiddleford nodded as well.

"Did anything interesting happen?" Ford asked.

"Not really," Tate lied. "You?"

"Nope," Ford shook his head.

"What are ya eatin'?" Tate asked. Ford and Fiddleford looked at each other.

"Raw beef," Ford lied. "How's your fish?"

"Oh, good," Tate said.

"Do you know why?" Ford asked. "Because it's flash frozen, and that's what keeps it so fresh." Fiddleford stared at the fish on his fork. "Oh, I forgot, Joan is going to give us that listing."

Fiddleford didn't answer, still staring at the meat. Ford waved his hand.

"Fidds?"

"Are you ok, Dad?" Tate asked.

"...yeah, Ah'm good," Fiddleford nodded and ate the fish. He looked over at Ford, who happily ate another piece of the Porsche guy.


End file.
